


New Routines

by petals42_tumblr (rosepetals42)



Category: Leverage
Genre: But Eliot is about to be included too!, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Parker/Hardison, Multi, Post-Series, Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 23:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7778425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetals42/pseuds/petals42_tumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are a little different, now that it's just the three of them. Eliot finds he doesn't mind the changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Routines

**New Routines**

It doesn’t come up right away. Probably because despite their acquisition of the proverbial Black-book, they have an unspoken agreement to ease into it. At least, it’s unspoken to Eliot. Maybe Parker and Hardison have actually talked about it. He doesn’t know how much they talk about the job during their private life. And he doesn’t need to know – really, the less time he spends thinking about them together, the better.

Regardless, he is content to follow their lead, even when it means there are four jobs before he even has a proper fight.

It feels good in all the ways he knows aren’t exactly healthy. But there is just something different and totally satisfying about his fists sinking into flesh instead of a cloth punching bag.

And that’s to say nothing of the flash of relief when someone manages to land a hit on him.

So it’s been a while, but he hasn’t let himself slip, not when he  _promised_  to keep them safe. So it’s all over in an instant. At one point, one of them had brandished a knife but honestly, the shallow cut along his right lower rib only ensures he ends the fight faster.

He wins and more importantly,  _they_  win and-

“Are you okay?” Parker asks, cutting smoothly through Hardison’s dramatic play-by-play of life in the van (Eliot refuses to call it Lucille. He doesn’t care if the vote is 2-1).

“What are you-?” he asks, frowning.

“The fight,” She says it like it’s obvious. Like he should have known what she was talking about.

He bristles. He  _isn’t_  out of practice but maybe she had calculated him finishing them off faster and he’d come to learn that if Parker calculated it, it was probably correct but  _still_. If he is going to trust these two wack-jobs when they planned these schemes, they should trust that he is going to do  _whatever_  it takes to keep them safe. Even if it does take a few moments longer than Parker’s freakish brain or Hardison’s computer simulations suggest.

“Of course,” he growls, expanding his glare to include Hardison when the geek pauses in his tirade to glance over in concern. “It only took me like four minutes. Really, that is like a guy every…”

He pauses.

“A guy every 48 seconds,” Parker supplies.

“Speaking of four minutes, did you  _see_  me get through that firewall?” Hardison interrupts. “I mean, c’mon dudes. That’s  _gotta_  earn me some extra lovin’ tonight, ya know what I’m saying?”

Hardison’s eyes flick to both of them but Eliot has learned when it’s time for him to clear out.

“That’s an issue for you and your girlfriend,” he snarls.

And then he’s gone and the question is forgotten.

*^*^*^

“You lied,” Parker hisses, sounding furious and Eliot wonders if maybe the hit to the face had been a little harder than he originally thought because he has  _no_ idea what she is talking about.

Instinctively, he glances down at the bodies on the ground. There are six, just like he said. And they are all unconscious, again, as reported.

“What?” he asks, wiping blood from his chin. It had been a lucky shot- one of them had punched where he still has stitches on his ribs and another had taken advantage of his gasp of shock and momentary distraction to kick him in the face.

“I’m mad at you,” Parker says, her voice clipped and unhappy. The next instant she is turning back to the stairwell and Eliot decides that escaping  _before_  someone finds his entire security team has been wiped out is more important than questioning what he has done to incur Parker’s wrath.

Of course, when they are safely in the van, Hardison behind the wheel, driving about as fast as Lucille – no, the van, it’s called the  _van_  – can go, Park leans over and  _hits_  him.

“Ow,” Eliot groans, rubbing his arm even though it didn’t hurt. “What the hell was that for?”

“Lying,” Parker says, glaring at him. “Hardison, pull over so we can yell at him together.”

“You got it, babe.”

“What, no!” Eliot grumbles. “I don’t even know what you’re  _talking_  about.”

Of course it’s too late. Hardison has already pulled over and hopped in the back, looking entirely too gleeful at the prospect of yelling at Eliot.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” he groans. “This is-”

“We need to talk about this,” Parkers starts and it’s her serious voice. The one she uses when she talks to clients. “As a crew.”

Eliot groans.

“We are not a-”

He stops. Partly because Hardison’s eyes have gone wide with warning, mostly because the last time he finished that statement ( _we are not a crew_ ), Parker had pouted for two hours and then demanded to know what he meant and his attempted explanation of “Two Thieves and their bodyguard” had not gone over well.

“Okay, baby,” Hardison blurts into the silence of his pause. His voice is patient and serious as it always is when Parker gets into these moods. Supportive. “What’s the issue?”

“Eliot  _lied_ ,” Parker replies, crossing her arms. “To  _us_.”

The last word holds special importance and Eliot is reminded of all the times he’s declared his one rule: You don’t con your own crew. And he would feel bad except-

“No, I didn’t!” he protests, looking to Hardison for help. “Honest. I have no idea what the blazes she’s even-”

Hardison holds up a hand and Eliot falls silent instinctively. And then growls a little when Hardison looks pleasantly surprised.

He was a soldier. It is just goddamn instinct to obey a non-verbal command. And technically, Hardison is something like his commanding officer now.

“You  _did_ ,” Parker states. “After our last mission. We  _asked_  if you were okay after the fight and you said  _yes_.”

Eliot blinks in honest surprise, more confused than ever.

“What?”

“Dude,” Hardison says and now he is staring in disapproval as well. “You- you lied? I can’t believe you!”

“Can’t believe  _what_?” Eliot says. Maybe this is some elaborate prank they are playing on him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“You said you were fine!” Parker repeats. “But then today, I  _saw_  you go down when that one guy hit you in the stomach and you  _shouldn’t_  have – not like that. Not unless there was a  _previous injury_.”

“Dude,” Hardison says again.

“Don’t,” Eliot growls at him, pointing one finger. “Parker, I am fine – look, it’s just a few stitches!”

“Stitches!” Hardison cries, standing for a moment before realizing that Lucille- the van isn’t quite tall enough for him to do that comfortably.

“See!” Parker says. “Lies!”

“No,  _not_  lies,” Eliot says, rubbing his head. He’s got a headache coming on. “You asked if I was okay, which I took to mean ‘okay to work ASAP’ and I  _was_. I mean, I _am._ ”

He’s well aware that his argument is less believeable with his chin covered in blood but he doesn’t have a concussion which means he’s ready to go.

“No,” Parker says. “We plan jobs around the assumption that you are healthy.”

“I am healthy!” Eliot insists. He suddenly very much wishes that he could get out of this damn van. “I took down those six guys, no problem.”

“No, you nearly got knocked out because you were  _injured_ ,” Parker crosses her arms. “You had stitches and we didn’t know.”

“Look,” Eliot tries. “It is a hitter’s job to get hit. The whole point is that I can still get up and hit them harder. Now can we please just-” he waves his hand toward the direction of the steering wheel. “Go on and get out of here.”

“No,” Parker says. “Not until you promise to tell us everything you would have told Nate.”

“Wha-”

“Yeah, man,” Hardison adds. “it’s not cool of you to just assume that since this is like a new situation, the old rules don’t apply anymore.”

Eliot frowns. Old rules? What were these two idiots even talking about?

“Yeah,” Parker adds. “Totally not cool!”

“And another thing,” Hardison continues. “Just because we’re down two people doesn’t mean that-”

“Guys,” Eliot says and at this point, they are both talking over him and each other. He tries again. “Guys!”

They fall silent.

“Guys, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “I never told Nate anything like this.”

There.

That should be the end of this entirely bizarre conversation. Now they can go home and he can ice his jaw so he can still chew tomorrow. He had planned to make burgers.

But both Parker and Hardison go absolutely still, not dissimilar from how they look when alarms suddenly start blaring.

Something in Eliot’s stomach sinks.

“Now, hold up a minute,” Hardison starts. “You’re telling me-”

“Us,” Parker interjects, leaning over even though her eyes never leave Eliot.

“Us,” Hardison echoes. “You’re telling  _us_  that after those dumb ass crazy missions we did-”

“On a regular basis,” Parker adds.

“On a muthafucking  _regular basis_ ,” Hardison continues. “You and Nate didn’t debrief or deliberate or even discuss how much time you needed off to recover?”

“Wha- recov- no,” Eliot growls. “No, that’s not how it works.”

It wasn’t how it worked in the army or the special forces or as a hired assassin or as a thief. It just wasn’t. If you got hit, you got back up and if your C.O. needed you ready the next day, you got your ass up and ready to go.

“That’s not how…” Hardison repeats. “Park, you hear this man? He says that’s not how it  _works_.”

For some reason, Eliot is blushing, though he snarls in Hardison’s direction and hopes it comes across as anger. He’s never liked it when Hardison acts like he’s an idiot.

“I can’t,” Hardison says, half-rising and then sitting again. “I’m out. I’m done. Call Nate. No-  _don’t_  call Nate. I’mma call him  _myself_  and-”

“Alec,” Parker says and maybe she’s sensed that Eliot’s headache has increased and he is about to  _kill_  Hardison because she uses his first name and her firm tone and everything. “Drive us home.”

Eliot releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding and gives her a nod she doesn’t return.

Still. At least someone gets it.

*^*^*^

They move on. At least, Eliot assumes they do. They take a few weeks off because Parker says she’s researching and Hardison works on Luci- the van and Eliot works out. A lot. He even goes to a few masters to make sure he is polished. (He is, for the record.)

Still, their first few jobs are tame. Suspiciously so. Or maybe he just feels suspicious because if he doesn’t get to  _hit somebody_  soon, he is going to go crazy. He feels antsy. And snappish. And he knows Parker and Hardison are going to sense something soon, if only because he has taken to avoiding them at all costs. Or attempting to. Both of them have an eerie ability to find him no matter where he is trying to hide, be it in the kitchen at 2 in the morning or at his apartment that they aren’t supposed to be able to find or at the coffee shop downtown he likes.

He suspects Hardison planted a bug on him. He can’t prove it, but he’s almost positive.

But, finally,  _finally_ , he gets to shed his grifter status and go back to being a hitter.

Two groups of four guys and then a final group of six – he’s even a little sore. They landed a few punches, but nothing major and he takes them all down quickly and Parker stays out of his way and sticks to picking the lock and then trusts him enough to leave him alone with the last few and well, he’s in a real good mood.

Or at least he is until he steps into their meet-up point, an abandoned warehouse big enough to stash their grab for a few days, to find Parker pacing restlessly.

“Take off your shirt,” she orders, reaching for a box.

He obeys even as he feels a real spike of concern. The guy they were conning was no small-time thug and, as a scientist, had access to some pretty nasty concoctions.

“What is it?” he asks, pulling his shirt over his head. “Poison or something? Radiation?”

Parker just hums and then grabs his chin without warning and pulls his face closer to hers. Her eyes lock on the scrape above his right eyebrow.

“Parker,” he huffs, accepting her scrutiny. “Shouldn’t I be taking some sort of shower or something?” Or maybe taking off his pants? If his clothes have been compromised than surely they are  _all_  contaminated.

“Doesn’t need stitches,” Parker informs him, suddenly shining a light into his eyes. He growls and pulls away and that’s when Hardison bustles into the room.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” he mutters and Eliot still has no idea what is going on. Parker is now  _circling_  him. “Okay, Park, I got it. Pulling up the video footage.”

“Video footage?” Eliot echoes. Was there  _evidence_  of him getting sprayed with a gas of some kind? He thinks he would have noticed something like that…

“Alright, here we go,” Hardison says, still not looking up from his screen. “You already checked his face? That hit was early on.”

“Got it,” Parker replies. “No stitches needed.”

“Alright then… well that guy certainly isn’t going to be punching people any time soon. Good Lord, Eliot, did you have to embarrass the man like that? Knocking him out with his own fist? I mean that-that’s cold, man.”

Things are starting to click into place. The order to take of his shirt. Parker’s inspection. Hardison’s video feed.

“Wait a minute,” he growls, trying to reassure himself this can’t be happening. It’s a poison. He has to be poisoned. “Are you watching my  _fights_?”

“Yup,” Hardison answers, nodding. He looks entirely unrepentant.

“Since you won’t tell us when you get hurt,” Parker replies. “We’ll do it this way.”

“Check the left side, baby,” Hardison pipes up, not taking his eyes from his little tablet-thingy. “Looks like he got kicked pretty badly under his ribs.”

“Stop,” Eliot growls but Parker has already swept around to his other side and lifted his arm and, okay, yes, there is a deep bruise there.

“Found it,” she says. “We’ll definitely need an ice pack.”

She moves to open the box he’d noted before and it’s a  _first aid kit_. And then she somehow already has an ice pack and is moving forward and-

“No,” he snaps, taking a few steps away. “Get away from me.”

He puts enough threat in the words to finally make Hardison look up and Parker pause in her approach. Because he’s not doing this.

He’s been letting them get away with stuff, with calling him and whining until he comes over and cooks for them, with pouting until he agrees to watch a movie, with- with a lot. He’s been letting them get away with a lot. They’d had a goddamn _sleepover_  a few weeks ago because Parker claimed she never got to have any as a kid. They had played fucking  _truth or dare_.

Of course, he’s always let them get away with too much. From the moment he met them, Parker had been sitting too close and Hardison made up that stupid handshake that they now do all the time and people are supposed to be afraid to get into his personal space but Parker and Hardison had been poking and hugging and touching him since the beginning and-

He doesn’t mind it as much as he should but this- this is too far.

“No,” he repeats, taking another step back. “You can’t just- just-” he waves his arms ineffectively, attempting to indicate everything.

“We are going to take care of you,” Parker says and her voice is soft, but firm. “That’s the deal with us. That’s how it is.”

“No,  _I_ protect  _you_ ,” Eliot says.

“During the missions,” Hardison says. “After the missions, no. After the missions, we take care of each other.”

 _That’s not how it’s supposed to work_ , Eliot wants to say. Wants to say, but doesn’t.

“We won’t touch you if you don’t want,” Parker says, frowning as if she doesn’t want to make the concession but will if that’s what it takes.

“But we are watching the footage,” Hardison says. “And we’re making sure you don’t push yourself too hard.”

“And,” Parker says, holding out her hand. “Ice packs.”

Eliot doesn’t say anything for a moment. He clenches his jaw and meets both of their eyes in turn to see how serious they are and then-

“Gimme that,” he growls at Parker, snatching the ice pack from her hand.

He tries to ignore their triumphant grins.

*^*^*^

So he starts telling them. He avoids unnecessary detail, preferring to keep it simple, limiting his report to things like “Ice for my knee and gonna need two stitches in my side.” Because, frankly, it’s easier and faster than having them watch the footage.

Though they still watch it.

He knows because they take to bundling him up in Lu- in Hardison’s  _stupid ass van_  and forcing him to stay there for at least a few hours to make sure he is okay. (Hardison had read some stupid article on micro-concussions or some shit and decided this was  _always_  necessary and Parker had agreed that it was good for team bonding). He knows because by the end of these few hours, they have usually tried to pressure him into admitting to at least one or two more injuries than reported.

 _Are you sure your finger isn’t broken, dude?_ Hardison asks.  _The guy twisted back your finger. Like… hard. Like one of those old fashioned joysticks, like it looked really gross._

 _I am unwilling to believe you didn’t sprain your ankle,_ Parker tells him.  _Hardison, go get the crutches._

And, of course, there is the disaster of a time when Eliot misjudges how badly he’s been stabbed (sort of stabbed!) and bleeds just a little bit on the couch.

 _I didn’t think I needed stitches!_ He protests as Parker goes for the first aid kit and Hardison whines about buying a new couch.  _This was not my fault. And Hardison, this couch was hideous anyway._

So he tells them and then starts telling them more and lets them stitch him up when he can’t see the wound and then even when he can (because Parker’s steady hands are good for more than thieving) and it’s not as bad as he thought it would be.

He might even like it.

*^*^*^

Seven months after their new setup and five months after the new rules are clear, Eliot doesn’t get a chance to tell them what’s wrong.

He takes a bullet to the shoulder and another to the gut and he’s always said it,  _hedoesn’t like guns_ , but this is really the last straw. Guns are the worst.

He’s okay, though. He is. He just as to make it to Lucille. Make it to Lucille. That’s what he tells himself and-

The world goes dark as he’s struggling to stand and for a moment he thinks that means that he’s made it, that in a few moments his vision will clear, but it doesn’t.

It doesn’t and when he wakes up next, he is in the too bright light of a hospital.

He surges forward but then there is a hand on his shoulder and he almost breaks it off when her face swims into view.

“Hey, man,” Hardison says from his other side. “We’re good. Got you out okay too.”

“Oh,” Eliot grunts, settling back. “Okay.”

They’re here. They’re safe. He didn’t fail.

And they stay. He gets halfway through telling them they can leave but Parker glares so hard he stops and Hardison just rolls his eyes.

So they are there.

They are there when his doc tells him he was actually shot three times and that one of the bullets seriously fucked up his stomach and they are there when she tells him that he will be stuck in bed for close to a month and it make take up to four for “full recovery.”

They are still there when she pats him on the shoulder and leaves telling him he is lucky to be alive.

He doesn’t feel lucky. He feels stupid. He should not have let himself get shot three times. He should not be out of commission for four months.

“Shit,” he growls after a moment. He is tired. “Don’t- don’t worry. I know a guy.”

“A guy?” Hardison echoes.

“Yeah,” Eliot tells them. He’s not happy about it but it’s how it has to be. “Another hitter. He’s good and we can pay him enough to be loyal. He never bails mid-job. I trust him.”

“What?” Parker asks.

“Another hitter,” he says, feeling his eyes start to slide closed. “You two- you can’t be by yourselves. Need protection.”

Parker hits him in the arm. Hard.

“Ow!” he glares at her. And then he notices that her eyes are suspiciously damp even though she turns away the next second.

“You’re an idiot,” Hardison says. “Like we would do this without you.”

Eliot blinks. They had done it before, when Parker was laid up with her knee. Granted they were going from five to four rather than three to two, but still… they have to go on without him. They are Parker and Hardison. They will get bored otherwise.

“You don’t have to-”

“Shut up,” Parker says. “Stop being stupid.”

“Yeah,” Hardison agrees, poking him in the side. (And, seriously, could they stop hitting the guy who had just been shot?) “We’ll take a vacation.”

“And take care of you,” Parker adds.

“Work on the restaurant for a while.”

“And watch movies!”

“And maybe I’ll finally get you to play video games with me.”

Eliot manages to glare hard enough to convey his thoughts on  _that_  idea. Hardison laughs.

“I want to watch Disney movies,” Parker declares. “I missed all the Disney movies.”

“Eliot will be happy to watch them with you,” Hardison says, still grinning. “While I play my  _extra cool_  video games. I’m sure he’ll love the sing-along versions too!”

“Wait,” Eliot says. This is not what he expected. “No, I-”

“Oh so you  _do_  want to play video games?”

“I hate you guys,” Eliot growls. Because he already knows how this vacation is going to go. At least for the first few weeks, until he’s well enough to sneak back into his own apartment. But it’s okay. He’s survived worse conditions for three weeks before.

“Also, I already sub-letted your apartment for six months,” Hardison says, waving his phone in the air. It’s like he somehow  _knew_  Eliot’s plan. “To a wonderful, down-on-her-luck mother of three who was  _thrilled_  to get it at such a cheap price.”

“You did  _what_?”

Parker is giggling.

“No getting rid of us that easily,” she says.

“I may just sell it to her,” Hardison says, mostly to himself, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“You will  _not_ ,” Eliot growls. He can’t live with Hardison and Parker. It’s not right.

“Are you gonna evict her? She has three kids!”

Eliot isn’t giving up. He isn’t. But he is falling asleep and both of his stupid partners are looking too happy to fight at the moment and it-

It will be fine.

“I’m only playing the fishing game,” he says, trying to sound firm even as the world goes dark again.

It’s not as scary this time. Not with Parker’s and Hardison’s laughter rising above him.

End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!! :)


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